Absolution
by alisonsargentes
Summary: 1941. Jordan Parrish, an American soldier influenced by the effective propaganda against the enemy, and Lydia Müller, a German nurse disgusted by the evil nature of the conflict, found each other in the middle of the deadliest war in human history.
1. Disclaimer

**GENERAL DISCLAIMER **

This story is based on characters created and owned by Jeff Davis, MTV, the Teen Wolf creation team, and various other production companies. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

A big thank you to Danielle (lockwoodforbes. tumblr .com) for allowing me to take her idea and expand it even further! Be sure to pop on over to her blog and tell her how awesome she is because she really is awesome :) I wouldn't be writing this story if it wasn't for her!

I also just want to give a general thank you for everyone who takes the time to read this. It means a lot to me to know that my writing can entertain some of you out there!


	2. Chapter 1: Morning

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She could feel the dead living beneath her feet.

Crows flew against the backdrop of the blue dome sky, their inky black wings standing out against the otherwise beautiful expanse. Just down the street from where she stood, Lydia Müller could hear the squeals of children as they played in the streets. It was a strangely calm morning, unlike any of the others she had woken up to. And perhaps that was why it felt as if she could feel them—those that had given their life fighting in a devastating war—just underneath the floorboards. Men, women, and children. Slaughtered. Sometimes, when she closed her eyes, Lydia could hear their shouts and cries. Their pleas for mercy, begging to keep their lives. She could see the blood tainting the pure white snow, a deep crimson just taunting her for her failed efforts. The dead were screaming at her, pounding against the frozen earth trying to break free. They wanted their revenge—she could _feel_ it. She didn't know how or why, but it was that peaceful morning that brought forth all the horrors she had seen. All the horrors that she had yet to come across. Lydia blinked and her town transformed before her eyes. Mutilated children lay decaying in the streets, houses and shops and lives burning to the ground. Black smoke rose to the sky, blocking out the sun, while glass littered the ground. She blinked again and it was home. For how long that would last, she didn't know.

A frigid breeze fluttered by, bringing forth goosebumps on her arms, and instinctively, the young redhead brought her mug closer to her chest, hoping the heat radiating off her tea would keep her warm. The sky told lies of what lay beneath it, illuminating the quaint village in which she resided as if it were something to be read about in books. With the smells of the bakery in the air, the pups barking in the streets, and the group of young children playing off a few yards away, Lydia herself nearly believed the tale. But even from the steps of her front porch, she could see the red bands sewed into the sleeves of the boys' shirts. It glinted against the frost-tinted air, a beacon for whoever dared near. Lydia didn't even have to get a closer look to know of the black swastika that had been proudly emblazoned on the fabric.

It had been two years now, if she remembered correctly. Two years of her country fighting for a cause that should be destroyed for all it was worth. Two years of deaths so brutal, so bloodied, and never ending. Two years of the world changing over night, leaving safety as nothing but a well-remembered dream. A memory and nothing more. Raising the mug to her lips, Lydia tried to push away the thoughts of how tomorrow she would leave once again. For a moment, she couldn't help but wonder what part of this war-torn country she'd be deployed to next. Which Nazi would cover her clothes with blood? How many dead bodies would she stumble upon? How many would die while under her care? Tears pricked in her eyes, though whether it was because of the wind or the memories, Lydia wasn't sure. She had twenty-four hours left of peace before she had to return to fight alongside a leader she didn't support. Twenty-four hours. She could make it.

"Good morning, _Fräulein_ Müller!"

Lydia blinked, bringing herself back to the world in front of her, where she saw the beaming face of Gretchen Kaufmann before her. The winter sun glinted off the young girl's blonde hair, her blue eyes shining, and Lydia couldn't help but smile down at her. After years of babysitting the child, it was hard to dislike her—even with that wretched uniform she wore. "Good morning, Gretchen," Lydia greeted back, a smile appearing effortlessly on her face. "How are you this morning?"

"I'm well. They've called for an additional Youth meeting this morning!" the seven-year-old exclaimed excitedly. "I was wondering if you'd like to join me?"

_No._ It was the first word that popped into her head. For years now she had been subjected to those meetings just like everyone else her age. But despite the eligibility she still possessed, Lydia's nineteenth birthday was only a few months away and Germany needed her efforts out on the battlefield rather than in the community hall being taught by members of the Nazi party. For that she was grateful. But the innocence burning in Gretchen's eyes made her heart ache. Knowing that the young child was forced to surrender to the propaganda around her, taught all the awful things that the Nazis believed, pained Lydia. Not to mention, the word _additional_ had caught her attention. It was rather strange for another meeting to appear out of nowhere, especially to a degree this sudden, and even Lydia had to admit she possessed a curiosity she couldn't shake.

"Of course," Lydia said, reaching forward to twirl one of Gretchen's braids around her finger playfully. "Just let me go wash out my mug and grab my coat, okay?"

Her skin prickled nonetheless. Floorboards creaked beneath her feet as she disappeared inside her house, surrounded by the bubble of warmth her fireplace created. Picture frames hung on the wall in a neat line, cabinets left without a speck of dust on them, and blankets folded into perfect squares. In a world of chaos, Lydia's mother had found order in cleaning. "Mama!" Lydia called as she entered the kitchen, placing her mug gently in the sink. "I'm going out for a walk!"

Silence.

Lydia hadn't seen her mother's face since her recruitment. Save for the pictures that hung on the wall and the memories tucked away safely in her head, Lydia's mother had become more a hermit each and every time Lydia was home. It had been two years and _Frau_ Müller still hadn't forgiven her daughter for her participation in the war, helpful or not. The redhead waited another moment, hoping she'd hear her mother's voice again just like every other time. As silence remained, Lydia found the kettle from the cupboard, filled it with water, and placed it on the stovetop to be heated. Wherever her mother was, the whistle of the kettle would no doubt bring her out of her slumbers.

When Lydia emerged from the house once more, closing and locking the door behind her, Gretchen was nowhere to be found. In fact, it seemed as if the entire street had been deserted in the few moments Lydia had disappeared inside her house. The hair at the nape of her neck tickled her skin and a shudder ran down her spine, telling her that there was something off about this particular morning. All the children who had been playing were no longer around and despite the lingering smell of fresh bread in the air, Lydia already knew that _Herr_ Bauer was not in his bakery. Shoving her hands in her pockets and ducking her head, Lydia walked out onto the street, focusing on the crunch of the snow beneath her boots rather than the silence that hung in the air.

The community hall rested in the middle of the town, no more than a two-minute walk from where Lydia lived, but each step felt like a mile. Each step procured another memory of another body; each whip of air procured another memory of her hands stained red; each heart beat thumping in her chest procured another memory of the cannons sounding and bullets whizzing. _Twenty-four hours,_ she reminded herself as the silence was broken by the sound of the community hall buzzing with life only a few paces ahead.

The chatter surrounding her the moment she entered the hall was like thunder to her ears. Never in her entire life had Lydia ever seen this many people joined in one place at one time. Children and adults alike stood shoulder-to-shoulder, pressed against the walls and fighting to see what was going on at the front. The younger children sat upon their father's shoulders, getting a prime view of whatever was about to happen, while everyone else pushed and shoved for a small glimpse. Fear immediately appeared in Lydia's gut, her mind going straight to the thought that Germany had won the war. That the Nazi party had prevailed and Lydia was going to spend the rest of her life being loathed for her nationality or oppressed by her nation for her views. She wanted to run right back out into the morning, but her feet seemed to be glued on the spot.

"_Achtung!_" The call for attention boomed loudly over the crowd, silencing everyone immediately. An officer stood at the front of the hall, proudly wearing themark of Germany and Hitler upon his uniform. "Good morning," he greeted after what seemed like hours of silence. There was a pause and even from the back of the room, Lydia could see a glint burning brightly in the officer's eyes. "Good news has come upon Germany this morning! It seems we have yet another ally on our side during this troublesome time. On the morning of December 7th in the harbors of Hawaii, Japan has declared war upon America by bombing one of its most powerful naval bases, thus joining our crusade."

Cheers erupted around Lydia almost immediately as the officer finished his small speech. Conversations exploded left and right, sharp applause filled the air around them, and as the townspeople around her rejoiced for the news of the attack, all Lydia could focus on was the smile upon the officer's face. It was a smile of confidence and condescension. It was a smile that declared as clear as day that he had no doubts of winning this war for Nazi Germany. And why shouldn't he? Japan was a country—a civilization—that had remained undefeated for nearly three thousand years. A strong ally indeed; even Lydia couldn't deny that.

"Lydia!" She turned her head, breaking eye contact with the officer, only to have her eyes land upon a face all-too familiar. Lydia had just managed to get out a "Klaus!" before the boy wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her up into the air in a twirl. "You must come out with us tonight, Lydia," Klaus said, grinning brightly, as he held her close. "You must celebrate with us."

Celebrate. Celebrate the deaths of innocent lives. Celebrate the alliance with another country. Celebrate the possibility that Nazi Germany might just prevail. Carefully, Lydia masked the disgust on her face with one of trepidation. "Oh, Klaus, I don't think I can," she told him kindly, pressing her hands on his chest as she wriggled herself out of his grasp. "I leave tomorrow morning and it isn't safe for a nurse to report for duty with a hangover."

The frown on his face didn't seem to suit his chiseled features, but as soon as Lydia's words fell upon his ears it remained. "That is a stupid excuse and you know it. You must! You always know how to bring life to a celebration."

_Three years ago, maybe,_ Lydia thought as she allowed her lips to curl up into that of a smile. "No, no, I mustn't. Honestly, Klaus, I have things I need to do today. Errands to run. Bags to pack. Supplies to get. But, you go and have a drink for me, yes?"

He opened his mouth to speak, another protest on his tongue and a fire burning bright in his eyes. But the uproar around them was silence by the feeling of the ground rattling beneath their feet. The floorboards shook, causing Lydia to lose her balance and fall forward into Klaus's arms yet again. Moments passed and the ground finally seemed to grow still yet again, frozen just like all the people standing upon it. Lydia's nails dug into the flesh of Klaus's arm, her eyes widened with fear. An earthquake. That's what that all was. After all, it was the only logical explanation for the sudden shift; the only logical explanation for why something so sturdy and stationary would begin to shake. Klaus held onto her, keeping her standing though her legs threatened to buckle, and Lydia found herself looking around at everyone. Confusion dotted everyone's faces, fear hidden behind their eyes, and it was as if everyone in the room had just taken a breath, refusing to release it.

That's when the explosion hit.

The force of the blast knocked Lydia off her feet and out of Klaus's arms, sending her flying out of the building and onto the frozen streets. She couldn't breathe; she couldn't move. All she could do was focus on the crows circling up above against the rays of the morning, winter sun. Disoriented, Lydia tried to move her legs and her arms; she tried to focus on anything other than the ringing in her ears and the birds in the sky, but it seemed as if she had been paralyzed for a few minutes. The snow beneath her wasn't as soft as it had been only an hour before; it was no longer as cold as it should have been. Instead, the redhead felt warmth beneath her fingertips and against the flesh of her legs. She welcomed the warmth, wanting it to envelop her as she had been so cold before, as her eyes began to flutter shut. Her head lulled to the side, her hair splayed on the ground and surrounding her head in a fiery halo. And that's when she saw it. The source of the warmth.

The snow had been dyed red. Confusion filled her for a split second as she took in the sight of the color so pure. She had never been able to match that exact shade of red in any of her art. It was a beautiful color indeed, but unsettling to look at. Had a young girl spilled her supplies as she was walking home? Lydia hoped not, given the fact that paint wasn't exactly the cheapest thing to come across these days. Her fingers twitched, reaching forward as if to touch the color, mesmerized by the different tones it possessed. Warm against her skin, Lydia pressed her fingertips deeper against the color and watched as the thick liquid coated her skin. Familiarity overwhelmed her senses, her eyebrows knitting together as she tried to gather the memory that was fighting to come forth.

_Blood._

Screaming. All around her, so many screams. Slowly, she tried to sit up, fighting against the wave of nausea in her body. As the seconds ticked by, the screaming seemed to get louder, drowning out the sound of the ringing in her ears, and Lydia's deep green eyes fell upon the burning structure of the community hall. Pillars of flames licked at the surrounding houses, climbing toward the sky and consuming the clean air with thick clouds of smoke. Bodies littered the ground around her, some dead and some injured; most screaming and all covered in blood.

A bomb. She could still feel the vibrations of the blast rattling through her bones, digging its way deep into her marrow to remain there for as long as she lived. Someone had bombed her town. Her peaceful, quiet town. Her town was nothing special. It held a simple name, _Beacon Hügel,_ and it was nothing more than a little blimp that lay a few hours east of Berlin. And someone had bombed it when the town had done nothing to disrupt the quiet nature surrounding them. Rage started to fill her veins, pumping adrenaline through her bloodstream, and it grew just as the flames before her ascended higher and higher toward the sky. She couldn't hear anything else aside from the wails pushing through the air; she couldn't hear anything else but the blood rushing in her ears as she scrambled to her feet, stumbling as the vertigo continued to grow.

Water. She needed water desperately. Her throat was dry, each breath she inhaled scratching her esophagus, but all she saw was fire. Had the fire eaten away the water, too, just as it seemed to be eating away her home? Through blurred vision, Lydia stumbled along the cobblestone street, bodies swarming around her as they began to run, fearing for their lives. Did they know where water was? She just needed water and then she would be fine. As soon as she got water she could tend to the injured. Tears streamed down her frozen cheeks as she moved slowly along the cobblestones, her eyes scanning her surroundings as she tried to gain some foundation back to her balance. Where was Klaus? Shouldn't he have been thrown right where she had been? They had been standing right next to each other…

Lydia stopped, spinning around on spot as she tried to search for him. "Klaus!" she called out, her voice hoarse as it got lost in the thunderous screams of those around her. "Klaus!" Lydia waited for the fear to set in. She waited for it to find a home in her bones and her cells; she waited for it to consume her like so many had said it would. But as she stood in the middle of all the chaos, Lydia only felt calm. Her mind seemed to recharge fast, clearing away the haze of confusion in an instant. There had been an explosion at the community hall: the center of town. That's where everyone had been, huddled together like pigs in a pen, and despite the horror, Lydia could understand the logic. It was the prime spot.

Logic, her only friend in the war. While her mother clung to cleanliness for a sense of order, Lydia tried to keep hold of all logic that there was. It kept her grounded and it kept her safe. For two years it had managed to assuage the nightmares and keep her focused despite the growing trauma that lay buried in the back of her mind. And that's when she them. The two blonde braids against the snow like strands of straw. Drenched in blood.

That's how Klaus had found her.

Crouched in the snow, holding young Gretchen Kaufmann in her arms as she wailed and cried. Lydia wasn't sure how she had gotten there. First she had been standing and the next thing she knew Klaus was jerking her to her feet, his grip ironclad on her arm. "Lydia, get up—you have to move." But she resisted. She fought against his hold, struggling with all her might, but the vertigo hadn't subsided yet and it made her weak. With all the adrenaline pumping through her veins, Lydia hadn't yet become aware of the deep gash in her arm, draining her of her blood. Klaus continued to bark orders at her, pulling her along with him though she dug her heels into the ground. She couldn't leave Gretchen. How could she just leave Gretchen in the middle of the cold street, just waiting to be trampled on? How could she just leave her alone, exposed for everyone to see?

There had been so much blood. So much brain matter spilling out of her open skull and Lydia thought she was going to be sick, just remembering it. Nothing clouded her senses anymore aside from the nausea in her gut and the dizziness that grew as she lost more blood. And without those clouds, Lydia had been able to see the crumpled skull with striking clarity. A sight she'd never forget. Whatever happened to her, Lydia didn't care. As long as Gretchen could have someone with her. "Lydia!" Klaus's voice was scarce of all pleasantries and flirtatious undertones now. The look in his eye held such severity, a cold mask that she hadn't known Klaus to possess. Klaus—the one who was always flirting with girls and cracking jokes—had terrified her into silence. "We must move. _Now._"

"Why?" Her eyes narrowed into defiance, the question falling off her tongue. "I'm not leaving her behind."

"She's dead, Lydia! And if you don't start moving you will be too."

She felt foolish, standing there in the midst of it all. For a girl who had been surrounded by so much death and tragedy out in war torn areas, she had never been in the middle of a battlefield before. She had never been on this side of the tent. Instead of staring at the faces of strangers who died before her, she was staring at the faces of friends and neighbors; of little girls she used to watch over. Instead of seeing the warm eyes of a good friend, she saw the blank irises of a boy void of any emotion. They were here. The Americans. They had invaded her town and her home, destroying it in a matter of minutes. They had taken innocent lives and killed those who had been close to her. They had taken her friend and turned him into someone she couldn't recognize. And now they were here and they were coming. Just like the Germans had done to cities all over Europe. But Klaus was right. If she didn't move, if she didn't run, then she would be dead too; she would be captured and she couldn't even begin to imagine what torture waited for her there.

With a small nod, Lydia allowed Klaus to lead her down the street, headed south toward the exit of the town. What did he expect to do? Disappear into the woods and wait the invasion out? She was too afraid to ask. A sense of dread filled her stomach as he continued to look over his shoulder, as if checking to see who would be following them. But Lydia hadn't seen any soldiers. Not yet. All she saw were the bodies. The bodies of people she didn't save.

At first, the gunshot sounded like a firecracker. It was a sudden burst over the scrambling crowd and the screams of anguish, freezing Lydia in her tracks. And she watched as Klaus crumpled to the ground in front of her. She choked on the scream in her throat, eyes wide and filled with tears as she stared at the hole in his head. It was so miniscule, that hole. But if there was one thing Lydia knew, it was that even the tiniest of things could kill people. A virus, a bullet… It didn't matter. Size was relative. Lydia remained paralyzed for no more than a couple seconds before she turned and began to run back toward the center of town. Fire burned in the muscles of her legs as she sprinted, jumping over the bodies on the ground and pushing through the mass of people who couldn't seem to find a way out.

Survival was the only thought on her mind, controlling her movements. Somewhere along the way, in her mad dash for safety, Lydia had lost her shoes. It was such a silly thing to realize, especially with all that was going around, but as soon as they fell off, she noticed. Her bare feet pressed onto the hard ground, pebbles digging fiercely into the soles of her feet, and snow squishing between her toes that would soon give her frostbite if she didn't find shelter fast. The town square seemed consumed by the masses, leaving no room for anyone to get anywhere fast. Leaving them to wait for death.

Ice found a home in her lungs as she inhaled the frigid morning air, pushing through the people as the sight of an open alleyway came into view. _Get to the alley, Lydia, and then you can figure out what to do. Just get to the alley._ She repeated that thought over and over again in her head, a mantra that gave her the strength to keep pushing through. Breaking free of the crowd, Lydia stretched her legs as far as they could go, sprinting as fast as she could down the alleyway and ducking at each sound of a gunshot in the air. The mouth of the alley lay just ahead, opening onto a street that seemed far more peaceful and quieter than the one she was leaving behind. Pain filled her muscles and her lungs, a cramp appearing in her side from the sudden burst of energy. At the sound of another gunshot, one that sounded a lot closer to where she was than where she wasn't, Lydia found herself diving behind a group of trashcans.

Her chest rose and fell, heart pounding in her chest as she did her best to remain quiet. Moments passed and the gunshots seemed to fade, nowhere near the hiding spot in which she rested. Unable to risk exposure, Lydia remained huddled, knees hugged to her chest, for what seemed like an hour, though it couldn't have been more than twenty minutes. She was alone. Utterly alone. Taking in deep breaths, Lydia tried to remain calm and focused as she ripped off fabric from the bottom of her skirt. Shedding her coat, Lydia exposed the wound through her white blouse. Her eyes narrowed, a scowl hardening on her features, as she gazed upon the deep gash in her porcelain skin. The snow around her proved as a good cleaning agent, though pain spread all throughout her arm as she rubbed the cold substance into the wound. Once it was clean, Lydia used her teeth and right hand to tie the fabric around her open would as a makeshift bandage, tying it tightly to stop the flow of blood. It wasn't much and it wasn't nearly hygienic, but it would have to last. At least, until she found some sound materials.

Tears threatened to fall from her eyes yet again, telling her to move before she found herself wallowing in despair. She could cry and grieve once she was safe, warm, and taken care of. Until then, she had to do what she promised Klaus. Move. Leaping up from her hiding spot, Lydia lurched toward the mouth of the alleyway and rounded the corner, south toward the exit of the town.

Lydia barely made it another step before she found herself facing the barrel of a gun—one pointed straight at her head. Her heart dropped to her stomach and her blood froze in her veins. Her eyes widened in fear, finding those of the American soldier in front of her. The soldier's eyes were green, much like her own. Only, they were a shade so pure and unnatural to any irises she had ever seen. A jaded green contrasted to her emerald orbs. They were speckled with gold, which Lydia interpreted for warmth; but given the hardened look on his face and the cold glint in his eye, Lydia was sure she wouldn't be met with kindness.

"Well?" she said, breaking the silence, her thick, German accent covering the English word that fell off her tongue. Her voice held strong, though her body quaked and the fear in her threatened to smother the fire in her eyes. For Klaus and for Gretchen, Lydia would fight in her final moments. It was the least she could do. "What are you waiting for, _soldat?_"

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**Author's Note: Oh boy! Here it is... Chapter One of ****_Absolution._**** Please let me know what you guys think of it so far :) Reviews and constructive criticism are very much appreciated. I know that it may feel like a lot suddenly happened in this first chapter with no particular expository, but I promise that starting with the next chapter and so on, there will be more background. But with a ship like Marrish and a setting like WWII, it's hard not to just jump into action!**

**Shout out to Danielle for being an angel and allowing me to expand her idea even further :) And thank you to everyone who reads this. It means a lot!**


	3. Chapter 2: Frozen

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Call it morbid curiosity, but after two years of healing wounded soldiers, Lydia couldn't help, but to wonder what it would be like to feel a bullet pierce her skin. How much of the pain would she be able to take? Would the adrenaline pumping through her currently allow her to push through it for a while longer? Would she be hit quickly, and with mercy, as to not feel the pain when she fell to her death? Would the bullet be cold as the metal it was made of or hot as the powder projecting it forward?

Those were the questions that came to mind. Her life didn't flash before her eyes. Only questions. Another explosion rattled the ground, only Lydia had been surrounded by war long enough to know it was on the other side of town—away from her. Killing more people in its path. As the ground shook beneath her feet, Lydia tore her eyes away from the soldier's and looked upon his form. His brown hair was cut short, just as every soldier's was, but his seemed to be growing out. Messy. Dirt and soot covered his milky skin, his boots caked with mud, and she could see burn marks poking out from the collar of his jacket on his collarbones.

As her eyes assessed the rest of his form, analyzing his stance, she saw it. Reflexively, the quiet defiance she held simmered down. Instead, it was replaced with a nurse's worriment and need to heal. "You're bleeding," she said, still eyeing the wound. A piece of glass was embedded into his leg, high in his thigh.

"Stay where you are." His voice was sturdy, unwavering despite the pain he was probably in, when Lydia began to take a step toward him. His words froze her and drew her attention back to his face, only to realize his features had softened somewhat. There was a small flash of confusion in his eye before it disappeared, his knuckles turning white as he held onto the gun tighter.

A scowl painted her features, her back straightening. Fear bubbled within her, brewing in her veins, but all she could focus on was the adrenaline piercing her heart. She would be damned to let someone remain injured. "You have to let me tend to it," she said, trying to keep the edge out of her voice. "It might be lodged into the iliac artery."

"Then it's the only thing keeping me from bleeding out."

His words fell bitter on her ears, an underlying layer of disgust coating his carefully chosen words. Of course. Why on Earth would an American trust a German at this point in time? A part of Lydia felt angry at him. She wanted to scream and throttle him; she wanted to hit him over the head for being such a close-minded bigot. But another part of her was hurt. She was more than her blood, than her nationality, and he didn't see that. Instead, he was waiting. Gravity seemed to grow heavier, pressing down on her shoulders and chest, as Lydia waited along with him. Soon he would pull the trigger… But why was he taking so long?

Despite the frigid winter air, Jordan Parrish had never sweated more in his life.

He had been too close to the initial blast when it happened, a mistake on his part he was sure, and in that he had been knocked off his feet from the force. A long, jagged edged piece of glass had jammed itself into his thigh, igniting sparks of pain each and every time he moved. But he didn't need the stranger in front of him to tell him what was happening. He could feel it. He could feel his blood pushing against the inflamed wound. He could feel it trying to breach the glass protection and make it out into the winter air.

The sight of the redhead had caught him off guard. When he had heard the trashcans moving in the alleyway, he had expected it to be one of the renegades from the group his team had been told to look out for. He had been expecting an undercover Nazi soldier to come out, guns blazing.

Instead, he found himself face-to-face with… Well. _Her._ With her wide eyes, paled skin, and fiery hair. Fear narrated a story on her features, but he saw something burning in her eyes. He expected hatred, because, to her, he was the enemy. But it wasn't hatred. It was something of its own accord. Strength. Resolution. A need to survive. After all, he was holding her at gun point.

Silence extended between them. Jordan didn't know what to say or what to do. He had been told at the beginning that there was bound to be civilian casualties if they managed to find the group, given the camouflaged nature of the renegades, but he hadn't expected to have to decide about whether to kill them or not. For all he knew, she could have been one of the renegades. She could be the enemy.

"You're bleeding."

Her voice sounded like honey. The first time she had spoken, her words hadn't registered in his mind. She had been egging him on, that he knew, but the two didn't seem to click. He had been caught so off guard, fighting to remain in control, that her words had escaped him. But not this time. Her eyebrows knitted together as she gazed upon his leg, her words covered in a coating of worry.

Jordan's throat became dry, unable to take his eyes off her face. What was he supposed to say to that? He still was trying to reel back from the fact that she spoke English. He was frozen in position, his brain a blank slate for what was supposed to happen next, and it wasn't until she began to move that his body reacted. "Stay where you are," he said through gritted teeth, his hands tightening their hold on the gun.

It was obvious how badly the redheaded stranger wanted to help him—he could see that light shining in her eyes—but he knew better than to let her near him until the entire situation could be assessed. "You have to let me tend to it. It might be lodged into the iliac artery," she continued stubbornly.

"Then it's the only thing keeping me from bleeding out." At least, that's what Jordan assumed. He didn't know much about medicine, but from the words that she said, he could only assume that whatever the iliac artery was, it was something important. It felt pretty damn important, if he was to be honest.

Her arms were lowered now, the fear gone from her features, and it was the first time since this little occurrence began that Jordan got a good look at her. Her hair was wild; curls protruded in every direction, mussed and untamable. Her skin was almost as white as snow, a stark contrast to her bright orange hair and deep green eyes. Her blouse was covered in blood, ripped in a multitude of places, and the bottom of her skirt was also torn. Confusion washed over him as he put two-and-two together, noticing how the bandage wrapped around her arm was the same fabric of her skirt. Her entire body was shaking, no doubt from the cold, but she didn't seem bothered in the least. Hailing from Louisiana, the frigid winter was something he still hadn't gotten used to.

"Where are your shoes?" he asked, curious, and broke the silence.

The girl's expression changed into something more forlorn, though anger burned brightly in her eyes. An emotion Jordan could never miss. "I lost them after the blast."

"Is that how you got hurt?"

"Why do you care, _soldat?_"

Good question. Why _did_ he care? In all honesty, Jordan couldn't say why. But he did. He didn't like seeing her shaking in the morning air; he didn't like that she lost her shoes and that she was bleeding; he didn't like that she had been caught in the blast. But the girl seemed strong enough to get back up on her own two feet, mend herself, and go off running. Even at gunpoint the strength remained. Not many people could say that of themselves during this time. Americans, Germans, Jews, and English alike. It was an unstable world they lived in, especially when it came to Americans and Germans. After the tragedy of the Great Depression, Jordan had lost hope for what was going to come in the years after. He watched as his parents and his brother starved when work wasn't something that remained constant throughout every day life. He hated the notices that seemed to be piling up because he and his father couldn't scrape up enough money to pay the bills. He found himself unable to look away as his mother was driven crazy by the Depression, losing herself along the way. But some managed to pull through with gritted teeth. His brother did. His father, too. She seemed like that kind of girl.

"It was your people who bombed us in the first place."

The words that fell from her tongue was a punch in the stomach. After everything that his country was doing to stop this war—to stop the slaughter of innocent lives, to save people from certain death—the last thing he wanted to hear was that he was the bad guy. That he was the killer. The murderer. The creator of this wretched genocide. "You watch your tongue," he said, though he couldn't tell if his words were filled with anger and sadness. "My _people_ didn't bomb anything."

At his words, Lydia couldn't help the way she rolled her eyes. It was almost as if she had forgotten that she was facing possible death down the barrel of his gun. She didn't like the condescension in his voice, but she could see the betrayal—the hurt—filling in his eyes. The conviction of his words was enough to stop Lydia in the middle of his thoughts. There was purity in the honesty of his words. Blatancy that she had forgotten about, given the lies and propaganda that surrounded her daily life. "You just expect me to believe that a truck full of American soldiers was passing through my town when a bomb went off in the middle of center square?" she questioned fiercely, tears hot in her eyes. The image of Gretchen's open skull and the bullet hole in Klaus's head came forth at that. "How convenient."

The soldier's expression changed almost instantly and Lydia could tell that he didn't have the words to respond to that. But his arms lowered, the gun now pointed at the ground instead of at her, and she felt the weight of the world lift off her shoulders somewhat slightly. Without the gun pointed straight at her head, the soldier almost seemed kind. But there was a heavy distrust in her heart right now. Despite what her "leader" preached, Lydia held no hatred toward any other race, nation, or ethnicity. But standing near the edges of her burning town, it was hard to believe what the American said.

Thankfully, no other words needed to be said. Sirens began blaring throughout the morning sky, fueling the fire of the chaos below. Instinctively, Lydia's hands flew to her ears to block out the unshakeable noise. Her hearing had barely healed from the initial bomb and now the ringing had returned. Tears spilled over her cheeks as she stood there, head ducked, that she didn't realized what was happening until she felt someone grabbing her.

In the blink of an eye, the distance between her and the American closed. The man lurched forward, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her back into the alley from which she came. A couple seconds later, the buildings just down the street exploded. Lydia watched with horrified eyes, her back pressed against the American's chest, as she watched another bomb descend from the sky, dropping spheres of death upon her town. However, it wasn't the bombs itself or the air raid that was the source of her terror, but rather the planes flying overhead, dropping them.

The Swastikas boldly displayed upon the wings and tail.

Before the confusion could settle in, Lydia was being pulled from her spot yet again. The soldier's arm was still wrapped tightly around her waist, holding her firmly against his body, as he forced her into a sprint back out onto the street and away from the now burning buildings. Adrenaline began to pump through her veins, fueling the instinct for fight or flight.

Pushing past the cramps in her side and the fire in her legs, Lydia did her best to keep up with the soldier drawing her closer and closer toward the exit to town. She wasn't sure what was going to happen when they got out of town or what the soldier would do to her, but all she could focus on was getting out and getting out alive. Her lungs turned to ice as she breathed in the frosted air, making it harder and harder to breathe the more she ran. The edges of her vision were beginning to blur, her head beginning to spin, and no less than a quarter of a mile up ahead, another set of buildings shattered from the force of a bomb.

Lydia hit the ground of an alley hard as the soldier pushed her in and away from the blast. Her skin split as she hit the icy cobblestones, scraping up her bare arms and legs. Warm blood trickled out, stinging her already roughened skin, and Lydia was on her feet in an instant. They were going to destroy the entire town while they were in it, killing Germans and Americans alike. There was no mercy from the Nazi's in the sky. And her mother was at home. Alone.

"No! Red, they're driving us all to the center of town—you can't go that way!" the American exclaimed, grabbing hold of her wrist when she began to move.

Lydia spun with ferocity, pulling her arm out of his grasp sharply. "I don't give a damn," she hissed at him, eyes burning with an unquenchable fire. "My mother is in there and I'm not leaving without her." _Even if I die trying._

Without waiting for permission, Lydia turned back around and broke into yet another sprint. A lump grew in her throat as she ran. She could hear the terrified screams of her town fill the air over the sirens and the bombs. Chaos had found a home in her town and it was thriving. It fed off the horror, the inhumanity, and the fear that poured out of every single person. It was insatiable. Breaking out of the alleyway and into the center of town, Lydia did her best to tear her eyes away from the bodies that seemed to cover the ground. She could feel the heat of the burning buildings as she ran. She could smell the sweat and the dirt on the people who rammed into her, all trying to find a way out of the town that was subjected to a never-ending fire. Kids all around her screamed out for their mothers who now lay dead beside them. Fathers and brothers did their best to fight against the invisible demons, using snow and whatever water they could find to put out the fires. Soldiers poured into the center of town, their American uniforms standing out against the backdrop of her little German town. They weren't the enemies though. They never were and they never would be. Lydia wanted to scream it to the world until she ran out of breath or lost her voice. She wanted to show them that it was their country—Germany—that was the monster. They were the murderers.

But they'd never listen. Even as they fell dead one-by-one at the hand of German soldiers, they'd praise this damned country until their last breath.

Her stop in the square lasted no longer than a minute, unable to stomach the mutilation that surrounded her. Pushing forward into the crowd, Lydia used her elbows to propel her forward, pressing them deeply into the bodies of all the others running around her and hoping she didn't get knocked over in the process. On any other normal day, her home was no more than a five minute walk from the center of town. Today, it seemed oceans away.

The punches kept coming. Boots and heels stabbed her bare feet as people ran; fists and elbows rammed into her soft torso as everyone tried to nudge through the crowd; screeches unknown to humanity thundered over the roar of engines and the wails of the sirens. An elbow came at her face before she could even duck, smashing straight into her nose to the point that Lydia could hear the bone crunch beneath its force. Blood gushed out of her nostrils, rolling down her chin and staining her clothing. Pain spread through her skull from the force as Lydia's eyes watered at the impact. She gasped for breath, trying to fill her lungs with oxygen to help battle the pain, but by this point the air had frozen solid. All she had left was the blood in her veins and the fear in her heart.

Minutes dragged on, weighing her down with each step, and somewhere along the way, Lydia managed to free herself from the crowd, coming up on the other side of the town square. Blood dotted the ground like breadcrumbs, but Lydia couldn't even tell if it was hers or the dead body on her left. Maybe it was the corpses on her right. They were all the same now. Long gone were the people who held dreams of seeing this war finished. Long gone were the children with lives ahead of them. Everything that made them unique and that made them special—that made them _humans_—had melted into the snow. Now, they were all the same. All alike. All dead.

In those few moments, hope seemed to be lost, buried under the snow. She could feel the beat of her heart quickening as her mind reeled, wondering when she would be one of those bodies. Lydia had been thinking about her own death for some time now. Not out of depression or sadness, but mostly out of the circumstances from which she had been surrounded. Only five years ago, Lydia was sure that her family would pass away from starvation. The Depression had hit her family hard, eating away whatever resources they had left, and it was amazing that they had managed to keep their house through it all. It was all they had left of their lives. They had starved for so many years, living on the bare minimum, and kept warm through blankets and coats because there was no way to pay the bills. The German dollar had been a joke all throughout the nation. Kids had played with the wads as if they were building blocks. Money had meant nothing.

And as sad as it was, it had been the war to bring her country back on its feet. To bring her family back on its feet. But now it was tearing everything away from her yet again, propelling her forward toward dangerous situations. She had endured so much already, her family torn apart from the Depression, and she couldn't stand to give it all up now. The thought of her mother laying dead under the rubble of her home terrified her more than anything else that happened that day.

The sounds of the air raid silenced as she ran. She could no longer feel the cold on her skin or the ice in her lungs. She was unaware of the blood still spilling from her nose or the fact the bandage on her arm was completely soaked through. The frightened girl had fallen into a strange state of hypervigilance, pushing her senses into overdrive. Her skin grew hot as sweat beaded at her hairline and as Lydia skidded to a stop in front of her house, she wondered how on Earth she had managed to stay up right.

Half of it was gone. A fire stretched to the sky, eating up the rest of her home and attacking the neighbors next door. The front porch on which she had been standing upon earlier was gone, nothing but ash in the snow. The roof was almost entirely gone, the foundation of the building struggling to hold up its weight. The scream she wished to release got caught in her throat. This wasn't the first time Lydia had seen something burn. She had watched the piles of books burning, saw the fire of an oven, and even watched as her town crumbled around her. But standing a mere few feet away from her house—the home in which she had grown up in—and watching it disappear before her eyes wasn't something had been prepared for.

And her mother was still inside.

When asked about it later, Lydia couldn't really tell anyone why she had done it. But the fire had been so enticing. The thought of her mother, despite the disgust the woman held toward her daughter, launched her forward. Lydia hadn't even blinked before she was moving again. By this point, only half the building seemed to be burning. She could tell that the house hadn't been an initial target, but had been caught in the flames of a burning structure nearby. The glass in the windows were long gone, covering the ground and cutting up the soles of her feet as she ran, and the doors had fallen off its hinges, onto the ground.

"Mama!" Her voice was shrill, a shriek over the crackling of the flames. Holding the fabric of the blouse to her mouth, Lydia kept moving, pushing her way deeper inside the house. The smoke was thicker than outside, congesting within the small space, and it nearly caused Lydia to give up on her mission. It was so hot. Silly and obvious, but it was true. Never in her eighteen years of life had Lydia experienced such heat. It ate away at her skin, seemingly dissolving it into a pile of melted flesh. Her skin flushed, the blood no doubt boiling in her veins, as the flames reached out for her. The fire seemed to be contained to the family room and dining room only at this point. The corridor that led to the kitchen was spared, so far, from the destruction of the flames, giving Lydia the opportunity to head toward the kitchen and, eventually, the stairwell that would lead to the second floor.

Then as soon as she opened her mouth to scream out again, a thick tail of smoke slithered into the cavern of her mouth, sliding down the slope of her throat. Violent tears burned in her eyes, her lungs heaving to cough the smoke back out into the air. But it was an evil paradox. The more she coughed, the more smoke that filled her system. She had been so stupid to come in here. She should have known better. She was smarter than this. Lydia collapsed to her knees, coughing and retching onto the heated ground beneath her. With the fire trapped in her lungs, her palms pressing down onto a covering of broken glass, all Lydia could think about was if this was how it was going to happen. Asphyxiation. It was a long, painful process—one that would torture her until her final moments—and she wondered why on Earth it was _her_ that would succumb to it.

"Mama," she managed to croak out again as she fell to her side, eyes finding the space where her stairwell had been. Gone. If her mother was on the second floor, she'd have no way of getting down. And, like Lydia below, she was trapped. Caged in. With nothing but the sound of roaring flames and a whistling kettle to aid her in her fight.

Jordan blinked and she was gone, leaving nothing but the boldness of her words to hang in the frozen air. It was obvious what the Germans were trying to do. Whoever lived in this town was bound to suffer a painful death at the mercy of the merciless. It was clear that there was someone—or something—in this town that the Germans needed to rid of and they were willing to kill anyone in the process. Just in case. It made the most sense, logically. Draw all the cattle to the middle of the pen and release the gas.

Only this time the cattle consisted of hundreds of innocent lives and the gas was the force of bombs.

He had reached out, trying to grab hold of her arm again, but she was too fast. He blinked yet again and she was at the mouth of the alleyway, disappearing into the crowd. Watching her get swallowed up by the crowd ignited something within him. It was dangerous out there, wherever she was going, and the thought of seeing her, a supposed innocent, get killed by the hand of her country wasn't something he could bear. It was a twisted form of treason that nobody should be subjected to. And while logic told him to get out of there and find his fellow comrades, Jordan found himself following the path of the girl.

At first, he had managed to find her in the crowd—the brightness of her hair sticking boldly out against the bodies—but soon, the panicked crowd proved to be stronger. She was swallowed up by it once again, leaving Jordan to follow after her blindly. He fought against the mass, dodging flying elbows and treading carefully. It was easy to lose balance in a mob like this and falling meant certain death. He would be trampled within a matter of minutes. His vision seemed to focus, slowing everything down around him. Instead of moving in fast-forward, the crowd continued to push around in slow-motion. Utilizing the sharpened vision, Jordan managed to get out of the mob on the other side of the square, just in time to see the red haired vixen disappear around a corner.

He shouldn't have ran after her. Not after dealing with that crowd and certainly not because she was running headfirst toward the center of the fire. He should have tried to get as many people out of the center of the square, but the sight of blood left in her wake was enough to squash any rational thought in his head. Had she been hurt while in the crowd? If she had, why did he care? She was a stranger. A German, at that.

But she was also strong and stubborn, that much he had learned. From her knowledge and the bandage around her arm, Jordan had managed to infer that she was a nurse as well. It was a silly thought, but maybe if Jordan saved her he could convince her to switch sides. Maybe he could convince her to use her skills on not only Germans, but English, French, British, and anyone who required medical attention. No girl from back home would run straight toward a burning fire and crumbling building without a second thought. No girl from Louisiana would have held her ground at gunpoint, daring the soldier to shoot her. Whoever this girl was, she had already proven herself as useful—someone worth saving—in the few minutes he had known her.

_Everyone is worth saving, Jordan,_ he reminded himself, the words of his brother flourishing in his mind. _Even the Germans. _

But the prejudice remained, even as he found himself drawing nearer to the house she had disappeared inside of. Something so strong, so apparent, was hard to shake off. Even if she was worth saving, he couldn't shake the disgust away. It was her kind that had started this all. Her leader. Her world. Her country had been prominent in not just this war, but the first one as well. She seemed part of a nation hungry for spilt blood and the murder of innocents. If she was truly a nurse, how many Americans did she let die just so she could tend to the Germans? Or worse. How many Americans had she pretended to save, only to let them die?

If it hadn't been for the sound of her scream—so faint and weak, left without any fight—that thought alone would have kept him from entering the house. But, just like before, Jordan found himself blindly following the stranger. The house was nearly gone, even if the outside structure didn't prove it. Stepping past the threshold felt like he was stepping into a blazing oven. The flames continuously grew higher, eating everything in its path, and Jordan followed the sound of coughs emanating from up ahead. There she lay, curled up on the ground. Smoke filled the air, suffocating and killing any living thing in its path. Fresh blood spilled from new wounds on her legs and arms, her nose gushing bright crimson; her eyes had rolled to the back of her head, displaying the whites of her eyes proudly; her form continued to cough violently, though it seemed as if she had no control over what her body was doing.

Jordan had seen that look before. It was a scary look. One that had been burned into his head too many times to count. She was waiting for death.

Wrapping his arms around her form, Jordan lifted her with ease from the crumbling floor. _My mother is in there and I'm not leaving without her._ Those were the words she had said before she had left, but from the moment he entered the house, Jordan hadn't heard any other screams. If her mother was trapped in the house, she was long gone by now. The structure was moments away from collapsing in on itself. Green eyes flicked around desperately, trying to obtain some sign of another human being, but there was nothing. Only the sound of a whistling kettle.

Guilt bubbled in his stomach as Jordan ran out the back door, holding her form close to his chest as not to drop her. She wasn't heavy, but the smoke from the fire was leaving him weak. They needed to get to a clearing and they needed to get there fast. So, Jordan did what he did best. He ran. Crossing multiple backyards, the soldier did his best to navigate through this foreign town, rounding around a still-standing house and out onto a part of the street that had been left out of harms way. Sometime during his sprint, the girl's house blew up from behind him. In an hour, a pile of ash would be all that remained.

_Keep running. Get her safe. Save the innocents. _

Three simple things. Three simple orders. Quentin's voice rang loud and clear in Jordan's mind as the words repeated themselves over. _Keep running._ The road stretched out far ahead, but as far as Jordan was concerned, the worst of the fire and the bombs were behind him. Up ahead, he could see the forest that they had come through as they had neared the town. Up ahead, he was sure the truck his infantry had drove in on stood. Hopefully all his boys made it back unharmed. _Get her safe._ Despite the obvious lack of threat in this area of town, Jordan didn't stop running until he reached the edge of the woods. He had no idea where he was, but he noticed the road that ran east. It was the road that led into and out of town. The truck couldn't have been more than a mile down that way, but Jordan dropped to the snow, laying the girl down gingerly. _Save the innocents._

Leaning over, he pressed his ear against her chest and then over her mouth. There was a faint pulse, he was sure, but it wasn't going to be enough to keep her alive for long. Interweaving and locking his fingers together, Jordan pressed down rhythmically onto her chest. _One-two-three._ _Pump-pump-pump._ He tilted her head back, opened her mouth (careful not to injure her broken nose any further), and blew down into her lungs.

_One-two-three. _

_Pump-pump-pump._

_Blow._

_One-two-three…_

_Pump-pump-pump…_

_Blow…_

It wasn't until he felt her breath tickle his nose that Jordan finally stopped his movements. He helped her roll onto her side, brushing her hair out of her face as she threw up into the snow. Her cough was violent. Her body wracked savagely. Many minutes passed until she gained the strength to roll over onto her back. Her chest rose and fell as air ballooned in her lungs, silence blanketing them yet again until their surroundings almost seemed peaceful. Jordan tried to catch her gaze, but it was obvious that the girl was avoiding looking at him as she turned her face to the sky. Even so, he saw the sorrow and desolation screaming at him through her emerald eyes. So, he stayed. Waiting. Until she was ready to get back up again.

**~~~~~{ *** }~~~~~**


	4. Chapter 3: Dust

**~~~~~{ *** }~~~~~**

Lydia had been sitting on the wooden floor of the truck for about an hour now. The car rolled over the hilled and snowy terrain quite fiercely, knocking her around in the back as she tried to maintain her balance. Those that had survived the bombing were either sitting around her or in one of the other two cars the American troops had called in. There had only been around thirty people, if Lydia counted correctly. Not a single one of them her mother. The faces she stared at were unfamiliar to her—most likely people from the nearby town, or people that the Americans had already helped—captured?—from other parts of the country.

Goosebumps flared over her exposed skin, causing Lydia to hug her knees to her chest in some search of warmth. The bandage on her arm had been replaced by one of _their _medics and Lydia knew that the moment they reached wherever they were headed that she would be getting stitches. And then who knew what would happen? All this time, Lydia had been sure that what her country—what Hitler—was doing was wrong. But she had never been around the Allies. For all she knew, she could have been dreaming up a fantasy and they could be just as bad, if not worse, than the side she was supposed to fight for. Squeezing her eyes shut and burying her face in the crook her knees made, Lydia tried to force all those thoughts out of her head. She was too tired; she didn't want to think about anything at this point in time.

All Lydia wanted to do was sleep. But even as she sat there, exhausted as ever, she knew that she would never close her eyes. Adrenaline still pumped through her veins, her mind working overtime to figure everything out, to remain alert, and until she knew that she could trust the soldiers, and the people around her, she wouldn't be getting any sort of sleep. Her body screamed at her for that, because it craved rest desperately, but Lydia ignored all the shouts it gave her. Even though Soldier Green Eyes saved her life—_more than once,_ her subconscious reminded her—she still couldn't be one hundred percent sure.

The car jolted once more, throwing Lydia back against the wall of the car. A shot of pain ran up her spine and she inhaled sharply through clenched teeth. Were they doing this on purpose or was the road really that bad? Lydia peered through her curtain of hair to the other end of the car. It was a rather large vehicle. Larger than she was expecting and it fitted around fifteen people in the back alone. Lydia sat nearer to the back of the car while a couple of American soldiers sat closer to the front of the car. Everyone else was mushed together in-between. Lydia unwrapped her arms from around her legs and pressed her palms firmly against the floor, locking her arms in hopes that the position kept her up right and stable.

After the soldier had taken her from her burning home and after he forced air, life, back into her lungs, Lydia felt that she had no other choice but to follow him to the car they had ridden here on. She felt as if it was her only choice to get away from the town that was burning down around her; away from the memory of Gretchen's open skull and Klaus falling down in front of her; and away from the destruction _her_ country had caused. Lydia didn't know why they had bombed her town—an otherwise peaceful town that supported the Nazi regime—and though the question festered away in her mind, the redhead wasn't ready to know. So, she had kept her mouth shut, trailing behind the soldier until they reached the car, she was packed away inside, and they drove off.

Now, Lydia was alone. As the car jostled her around some more, Lydia tried to place names to the faces around her. But the longer she stared, the more unfamiliar they became. She didn't even know if the soldier that had saved her was in this car with her. Somehow, the idea of him being just a few feet away made her feel a bit better. For the time being, at least. Then, all of a sudden, tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision. She was really alone. Her bottom lip quivered and Lydia could feel the sensation of wanting to sob rush through her. She was seconds away from cracking and if she hit the side of the car one more time, if she gained one more bruise, Lydia was sure she would fall apart.

The tears burned for some time, Lydia managing to keep them from falling for the time being, and it was then that she felt someone nudging her foot. She looked up, gazing around the car to find the person, until she felt the person nudge her again, this time coming from her right. The girl sat across from her, one person over. She was a beautiful woman, the stranger. With thick, raven-colored hair that tumbled far down past her breasts and pale, porcelain skin. Her toffee colored eyes were alight, despite the circumstances surrounding them, and her petal pink lips were pulled up in a soft smile, dimples popping up on either side. She was holding her hand out to Lydia, something within it, but Lydia didn't move. She just stared at the girl in front of her.

The stranger's smile grew just a bit wider and she opened up her jacket just a bit to reveal the beginnings of foil packaging, a familiar design poking out in the dark. _Chocolate._ "Take some," the stranger whispered, holding it out again. She was French, if Lydia placed the accent correctly. "It will make you feel better, I promise."

And so the stranger managed to make Lydia smile. It was brief and incredibly small, but even Lydia could feel the corners of her mouth twitching. Gently, she reached out and took the small block of chocolate from her hands, inhaling its sweet scent before nibbling on one of the corners. "Thank you," she replied.

"You looked like you needed it more than me," the stranger commented, dismissing the whole thing like it was no big deal. But in times like this, even the smallest act of kindness could mean a hell of a lot. "You're one of them, aren't you? One of the people from the burning town?" Lydia simply nodded, taking another small bite from her treat as she held the gaze of the stranger. It was amazing how much empathy blazed in her eyes when they didn't know each other. The stranger frowned, as if she was searching desperately for something to say but there was nothing that could be said. Frankly, Lydia was happy she didn't express the sympathy. The redhead wasn't in the mood to hear an unwarranted, meaningless apology. "What's your name?"

"What's yours?" Lydia said quickly, never breaking eye contact.

"Allison."

_Oh. Pretty_. "Lydia."

Allison's grin grew wider, the dimples becoming more obvious as she did so, and Lydia felt warmth spread through her at that. It was funny how Lydia couldn't remember the last time she had seen someone smile that brightly at her before. At least… Before Klaus had only a few hours ago. Lydia smiled back, trying not to let her memories show on her face, but the grin felt awfully forced. "Finish the chocolate, Lydia," Allison said warmly. "You'll need your strength. We all will."

Lydia's eyes narrowed at that, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion, and she felt a small pang of fear appear low in her belly. "Why? Where are they taking us?"

One of Allison's shoulders lifted up in a small shrug. "I asked, but they wouldn't tell me."

"Why not? You're on their side. You're French."

The comment granted Lydia another one of Allison's contagious smiles. "I don't think they're taking us anywhere horrible," she said, ignoring Lydia's comment all together. She was French, wasn't she? The accent was almost unmistakable now. "But just because there's peace now doesn't mean there won't be chaos later. Eat up."

Lydia blinked, unsure of what to say, and settled for pressing the rest of the chocolate onto her tongue, chewing it as best she could.

**~~~~~{ *** }~~~~~**

For the rest of the trip, Lydia and Allison sat together in silence. The chocolate was packed away, Lydia's stomach felt a bit better, and the redhead endured the jerking around the truck made until it came to a final stop. At last. Fear ate away nervously within the pit of her gut. Fear of where they were. Fear of who she would have to deal with. Fear of what was to come. Allison's comment had been strange, but Lydia knew it would be stupid to brush it aside. The girl had been right.

Peace was short lasting. During the twenties, the age of prosperity, it had only taken a few years or so before all the peace and happiness collapsed into disparity. Until the Depression hit and it seemed as if nobody would be happy ever again. And then Hitler rose to power, declaring war on those he saw as unfit to live on this planet. Chaos had the ability to endure what peace couldn't. Chaos was a living, breathing, strategic creature; peace was a naïve child playing on the street, unaware of the truck barreling straight toward it. Lydia had promised herself that she wouldn't live in naivety. She was too smart of that and, frankly, there was no reason to fool herself into thinking everything was going to be okay. The past ten years had proved that perfectly. It was because of the everlasting horror that Lydia vowed to be strong. To remain standing even when everything threatened to knock her over.

The thought process seemed to work for the most part. But as the car had come to a stop and silence filled the air, Lydia didn't know if she'd be able to get up onto her own two feet. Squeezing her eyes shut, Lydia tried to focus her breathing and keep her heart at a normal beat. She could still taste remnants of chocolate on her tongue, willing the sweetness to give her strength as the back doors of the trunk burst open.

Night had fallen. The crisp, hardened air filled the small space of the trunk like a block of ice, freezing them to the core. The cold was a shock, producing gasps from Lydia and the people around her as well. But the shock only lasted for a short while before the American soldiers began pulling everyone out. Slowly, Lydia opened up her eyes, focusing on the chocolate on her tongue rather than what lay out that door. She watched as the smile on Allison's face reappeared and she hopped out of the car as if it wasn't any different than coming back home after a long trip. Everyone around Lydia filed out, crawling over and around her, as she remained frozen on spot, staring at the soldiers on the other side, their faces clouded in darkness.

Until, finally, it was just her sitting there. The soldiers were speaking to her, urging her to come out. Their voices, their accents, sounded so different, and though Lydia understood the words, she couldn't get them to register in her mind. She didn't want to move. The soldiers didn't want to move either. It was as if they were trying everything in their power not to just rip her from the vehicle. Minutes seemed to pass, ticking slowly, and a new soldier appeared. The green eyes unmistakable.

Lydia hated the feeling of relief that appeared in her chest, lifting the weight off her body, as she looked back at him. She hated that he was able to make her feel at ease when he could be leading her to her death right about now. She hated that he was all she had left of her town. She hated that he was a part of this war, just as she was. She hated how he had hesitated while he held her at gunpoint. Most of all, she hated how he had chosen to save her instead of her mother.

Soldier Green Eyes turned around and muttered something to his comrades. The other soldiers looked wary, but with a curt nod, turned around and walked away. Then it was just Lydia and Soldier Green Eyes' stone cold stare. "Quit sitting around, mule, and get out of the car. We need to transport supplies with this car."

Her eyes narrowed instantly, chapped lips parting in a silent gasp. "_Mule?_"

Was that a flash of a smirk on his lips, smooth like honey? Or maybe Lydia was just imagining it all. When was the last time she ate, after all? "Mule. As in 'stubborn as.' It's an idiom."

"Mule."

His eyebrows knitted together and whatever playfulness had been there at first had disappeared. He looked her over, his gaze trailing along every inch of her. Did he see the goosebumps on her flesh? Did he notice the scar on her thumb from when she nearly chopped her finger off one morning a couple years back? Did he see the way the blood never reached her cheeks or the light never reached her eyes? Could he tell that her hair had been unwashed for nearly two days now, hanging lifelessly against her cheeks? Was he able to spot the small little blot of ash on the corner of her lips as the only remnant of her burning home? The concern on his face was becoming more annoying by each passing second and if he didn't say anything soon, Lydia vowed to punch him clean in the jaw. "You're cold."

A fact. Stated and simple. Much like when Lydia had pointed out his bleeding leg. _Oh dear, his bleeding leg. Did he ever get that fixed?_ Lydia wondered, though she fought to keep from glancing down. He seemed well enough. "Am I? I couldn't tell." Her words came out through chattering teeth—when did they start doing that?

Soldier Green Eyes held out his hand. "Come with me, I'll get you a blanket and change of clothes."

"Enough with the chivalry, _soldat,_" Lydia grumbled as she ignored his hand, scooting toward the edge of the trunk where she hopped out, her feet hitting the frozen ground somewhat unstably. Thankfully, the American didn't help balance her. She would have screamed. "It's dead."

His lips pressed into a hard, thin line. His eyebrows furrowed again. Lydia wanted to pull them apart with her own fingers. "We'll get you some new clothes and then take you to the infirmary," he said, returning to his normal stoic state.

"Not until you tell me where we are."

Lydia was starving and freezing. She was still bleeding straight through her bandage, the loss of blood making her dizzy, and she didn't know if she'd be able to sleep through the night. Her bladder felt as if it was about to burst, seeing as the last time she peed had been when she woke up this morning. Every time she blinked, she either saw Gretchen or Klaus behind her eyelids and the memory of them dying before her continued to scar her. The smell of warm, fresh food wafted in the air. It would be smart—logical—to go inside with the soldier and get rested up before she began working out any plans. But as far as Lydia was concerned, she'd stand in that spot all night risking frostbite if she had to.

"We're at my base camp," he explained, trying to find the correct words to use. "We have facilities for refugees and we try to help as many as we can by bringing them here."

"What gives you the right to think I'm a refugee?" Lydia snapped.

Green eyes grew wider at that comment. "Are you not a refugee?" _Are you the enemy?_ Lydia translated in her head, though kept her mouth shut. "Your English in impeccable. Not many Germans can say the same thing."

"That's because you've killed them all."

Any emotion that had resided in his face had drained instantly. His eyes narrowed into a hardened glare and it seemed as if he had given up on playing Mr. Nice Guy. Lydia wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. His kindness was really beginning to get on her nerves. "I'm done standing around here in the cold watching you live up to your namesake, mule," he hissed, grabbing hold of the crook of her elbow. It wasn't painful, but it was firm enough to let Lydia know he was done playing games. "Come. Inside."

And so she did.

**~~~~~{ *** }~~~~~**

Exposed.

The showerhead was right above her head, spraying lukewarm water over her taut skin, but there were no walls or curtains. It was a long wall of drains and showerheads where everyone—men, women, and children—could shower. It was absolutely heavenly underneath the shower spray, feeling the dirt and the grime and the death wash off of her skin. The scent of the soap wasn't anything to rejoice about, but it was sweet enough to mask whatever smell of sadness came from her. However, Lydia knew better than to escape into the water that would never melt her. Instead, she was in and out in under ten minutes.

When he had dragged her inside, they had gone straight to the infirmary. She was forced onto a bed where she had to bite down on a cloth as she got stitched up, his green eyes burning a hole into her the entire time, and then it was time for a short tour. After Soldier Green Eyes told her where she would be sleeping, gave her new clothes, and showed her where the showers were, he had left her. It seemed as if he was unhappy with Lydia. The redhead rolled her eyes at the thought. Okay, _perhaps_ her commented had been unwarranted and downright rude, but it happened. She was sorry, honestly, but her untrusting nature stopped her from actually voicing it. Grabbing hold of the folded clothes the soldier gave her, Lydia disappeared into the designated changing areas that were set up. Ironically, these had curtains—as if changing was more scandalous than showering and so nobody was allowed to see it. Shaking her head at the absurdity, Lydia dried off her body and her hair (to the best of her ability) and changed.

He had given her a nice pair of linen underpants and a common, white brassiere. There was a simple, pink nightgown, stockings (wasn't there a shortage?), and a plain, green daywear dress. However, it was the dress at the very bottom of the pile that caught Lydia's attention. It was a blue dress with short, cropped sleeves; it had a white apron sewed into it from the chest down; the dress looked as if it would end just past her knees and it was cinched at the waist. There was a white cap with it as well, boldly displaying a symbol that was also painted on the front of the dress. A small, red cross.

A nurse's uniform.

Lydia stared in disbelief at the attire, holding it in her hands as the other pieces of clothing fell to the floor. She didn't know what to feel. Why would he just assume that she would agree to be a nurse for them? Anger boiled in her veins, fighting alongside with the confusion and, dare she say it, happiness of seeing it again. But one could point out that Lydia may not have a choice. Maybe her choices were to be a nurse for them or die. Soldier Green Eyes had gone out of his way to prove that they weren't the enemy, so why was Lydia fighting him so much? Why was she being as…as—what did he say?—as stubborn as a mule? While she wanted to continue questioning his motivations, Lydia felt the exhaustion settling in on her body. As much as she wanted to avoid it, she needed sleep. And it was that realization that convinced her to change into the nightgown, gather up the rest of her clothing, and go in search of the bedrooms.

All alone, Lydia padded down the hallway, hair dripping wet down her back and a bundle of clothes in her arms. She felt like a lost little kid looking for her mother. Oh. Wait. She _was_ a lost little kid looking for her mother; and now she was so far away from home that the hope of finding her had been diminished. It didn't matter what the facts said or what Soldier Green Eyes saw. Lydia refused to believe that her mother had been taken away from her. That wasn't the way things happened. Or, at least, it wasn't the way she would allow for things to happen. Not if Lydia had anything to say about it.

After stumbling in on a deserted boy's dormitory and a broom closet, Lydia finally found the girl's dormitory that Soldier Green Eyes had pointed out to her. There had to be around twenty women in that room, all of different ages and sizes, all wearing the same nightgown she had on. Not a single one of them looked as terrified as Lydia felt. Awkwardly, she stood in the doorway, searching around for a bed that she would claim as her own. Had they all been taken? Had her stubbornness now rendered her without a bed to sleep in? But with a quick glance around the area once more, she saw another bed tucked away from sight in the middle of all the mess, right underneath a window. Beside it, a familiar, dimpled face.

Seeing Allison brought relief to Lydia; relief similar to whenever Lydia lost her friends in the marketplace and she found them again. Weaving through the other women, Lydia walked over to Allison, a smile on her face. However, when Lydia reached the bed and the girl, all she could do was stand at the foot of it and stare at its simple, brown sheets and blanket. A blanket that was sure to be scratchy.

"It's not all bad," Allison commented, reading Lydia's mind. "It's more comfortable than it looks and I suggest sitting down. Your soup is getting cold."

Lydia dragged her eyes away from Allison's face, and the dark, ringlet curls that fell wet against her cheeks, to the small table that rested between the bed. On the tabletop rested a small bowl and spoon. Lentil soup, if Lydia could guess. "You got me soup?"

"It's mine," Allison clarified, that same reassuring smile appearing on her face. "You were taking longer than everybody else, which is why they didn't bring any for you, but I figured you couldn't have been that far behind. Besides, I've already eaten." A coy look appeared in her eyes for a split second.

Right. The chocolate. "I can't eat your supper," Lydia said as she crouched to place her clothes underneath her mattress. Allison watched her, curiosity in her eyes at what the redhead was doing, but Lydia didn't feel the need to explain. It was a weird superstition her mother believed in.

"Of course you can. I won't and who are we to just let food go to waste?"

Lydia knew she should have just shut up and said thank you, but it wasn't her nature. Instead, she stared at the girl in disbelief, mouth opened and eyes widened. First the chocolate and now all of this. "Why? Why are you being so kind to me?" It killed Lydia that she didn't know. She was _German._ The biggest enemy in the entire world. She should be hated. She should be spit on and loathed. Instead, she was being shown kindness—even from a man who clearly wanted to give her anything but.

"Why not?"

"Because a world like this has no room for kindness! All that does is breed eternal misery." It wasn't until the words came out of her mouth that Lydia realized just how much she meant them. "All it does is make us have hope—and there is no hope."

"What do you mean, Lydia?" Allison's words were soft, but firm; her eyes were shining, sadness glowing in them. "There's always hope."

A quip appeared on the tip of her sharp tongue, but Lydia reined it in. There was something about Allison's expression—about how broken it was for that one fraction of a second—that made Lydia pause. Given, she had only known the girl for a couple hours now, but in those couple of hours she was always smiling; her eyes were always alight. Seeing her now, somewhat broken, was unusual. But as quickly as the sadness was shown, it had disappeared. She leaned forward, grabbed the bowl of soup, and held it out to Lydia. Taking it from Allison's hands gently, Lydia crawled onto the mattress, crossing her legs so that she was facing her new friend. "I don't know how you can say that," she whispered, staring down at her food.

"It's simple. It's only three words, four syllables."

Lydia looked up at Allison, sad and irritated. "You know what I mean."

"I don't know how you can say that there is no room for hope," Allison said, becoming fully serious now. "That's _all_ that there is room for, Lydia. It's all we have left. It's the one thing they can't take away from us."

"They? Meaning… The Germans."

Allison frowned. "You may be German, Lydia, but I don't think that defines you."

Lydia's lips quirked up in a softened smile. "Is that why you gave me chocolate?"

"No. I gave you chocolate because it seemed as if you desperately needed it."

Even Lydia had to laugh at that, even though Allison had been completely honest with her. The laugh, however, was tortured and twisted. There was no comfort or happiness in the sound. It was dry and emotionless, coughing up dust and disappearing as soon as it hit the air. Before the Depression drove her mother off the edge, she had always claimed that laughter was the best medicine. Laughter was the medicine that could fix everything. But then Lydia got older. And she saw people starving in the streets; she saw how much her people were viewed as fools; she saw how they were hated and scorned; she saw that rage at the world grow into a regime that was now causing bloodshed in the streets and genocide across the world. Laughter would never fix that.

Silent, Lydia ate. The soup needed more spices, otherwise there truly wasn't any taste, but it was enough to satiate her stomach. Her throat craved water, her body craved sleep, but as Allison said goodnight and went to sleep, all Lydia could do was sit there and look around the room. Almost everyone was tucked into their beds now. Lydia counted four elderly women of varying ages, sixty to ninety; there were around six young girls, girls who had barely lived ten years and were trapped in this world; the majority of the women were teenagers around Lydia's age, or slightly younger, and a few middle aged women bustled around to round out the rest. This was her life now. These women were her family. And she could keep fighting them with her stubbornness or don the nurse's outfit in the morning and help them all out.

Quickly, Lydia finished her soup before tucking herself away into bed. Rolling over onto her side, the redhead did her best to find comfort on the hard mattress and warmth in the scratchy blanket. Yes. This was her life now. And though her body felt heavy with exhaustion, Lydia could not close her eyes to fall asleep. She stared through the darkness that had now fallen upon the room, the lights flickering off, and felt the tears brim in her eyes. Lydia buried her face in the pillow, squeezing her eyes shut as she finally allowed the sobs to wrack through her body.

Tormented, she sobbed and wailed into the pillow, hoping it muffled the anguished sounds. Rabid and empty; that was how she felt. Her entire form shook violently as she sobbed, eyes burning as the tears continued to fall. Tears that she had been holding back for so long. Lydia sobbed and she sobbed, allowing the black hole in her chest swallow her up just a little bit more. She dug her fingers into the fabric of the pillow because there was nothing left for her to hold onto but that flattened cushion. The wind howled outside the window above her head, the voices from the shadows thundered in her ears, and the blood in her veins raced hotly, bursting every vessel.

Lydia tumbled through the darkness, rushing past the memories that stood prominently in her head. She could still smell the burning of the wood from her home. She could still see that small, little red hole appear in the middle of Klaus's head. The color grey would never remain the same ever since Lydia saw Gretchen's brain matter dribble out of her skull as if it were mashed up lunch meat. Her blonde braids would never swing in the early morning and Lydia would never get to have another dance with Klaus. December would no longer bring Christmas morning and her mother's cookies or the smell of pine taking over the town. December brought her town rejoicing over the deaths of innocent Americans just minutes before their own country stabbed them in the back.

Aching. Her body ached the more she sobbed, but with each tear that fell, five more followed. She wanted to scream and rip her pillow to shreds. She wanted to punch the window until she felt the glass shards digging into the flesh of her knuckles. Desolation swept into every crevice within her body, settling down and making a home there. _There's always hope._ Allison had said it so easily and Lydia desperately wanted to believe her. But there wasn't any hope. And there never would be. It had been killed twelve years ago when the world crumbled to dust around her feet.

It only made sense that Lydia would soon follow. And just as the pressure became too much to bear for the world, the memories became too much to bear for Lydia. The bed creaked as each wail and watery sob thundered through her, creating tremors of an unknown magnitude. This was it. This was Lydia crumbling to dust around everyone else's feet. Biting down on her fist, Lydia brought her face out into the darkness once more, inhaling deeply through her nose in hopes of stopping the grief and sorrow that remained as a permanent fixture in her heart. Soon enough Lydia calmed down, now finding comfort in the darkness; in the anonymity it brought and the shadows in which she could hide. But then, minutes later, her cries started up again, taking control over her body. She rolled onto her side, still biting down hard on her fist as she felt the black hole grow larger. And as her misery threatened to swallow her hole, she saw something small scratched into the side of her bedside table. It was so small, as if someone had carved it in with their own fingers.

Two little letters seared into her brain before Lydia drowned in the infinite sea, slumber shutting down her body completely: **W.R. **

**~~~~~{ *** }~~~~~**

**Author's Note: **I wanted to thank everybody who has read this story and given me the encouragement to continue writing it! You guys have no idea how much that means. I also wanted to apologize for how long it took to get this up here, haha! I just got so busy with life, but I promise I'm not abandoning it.

Lydia and Jordan's relationship sure does seem a bit rocky, doesn't it? I promise it won't be that way for long! Jordan and Lydia just need to learn to not be so paranoid (if that's even possible during war time). We also said hi to a familiar face... Hi, Allison! You've been missed :)


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